


i wish i could escape (i tried to yesterday)

by altissimozucca



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mentions of Spa, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altissimozucca/pseuds/altissimozucca
Summary: The ache in his stomach didn’t cease. If anything, it grew and continued growing until it consumed him whole. His fall was inevitable, but so was his rise.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly & Charles Leclerc
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	i wish i could escape (i tried to yesterday)

**Author's Note:**

> it's sad pierre times

**There was this** sort of ache burning inside of him, making him want to get out of his flat and walk down the streets of Milan in hopes of clearing the mass of thoughts scattered in his head. They were like fire, the flames growing in the pits of his stomach and swallowing him whole, leaving nothing but the ashes of a man he was just two weeks before.

That was a lie.

He hasn’t been himself for months; Anthoine’s death just added fuel to the inferno that’s been there since the start of the season, the most likely worst one in his career. He hoped it was the worst, as he didn’t know how he’d make it out otherwise. It was questionable whether he’d do it this time either, with his scattered mind and shattered heart.

Despite his will to go outside, Pierre remained in place, alone in his bed with the duvet pulled over his head, unmoving like a corpse six feet under. The air in the room was suffocating, but he was too sad to care; the last time anyone visited was well over three days ago, and even then, it was his mother who opened the window and let some fresh air in.

Pierre hasn’t seen the outside since.

His phone was chucked away somewhere, having lost battery in the time Pierre had been wallowing in bed. He’d heard it buzz one last time before it turned off, not getting moved since he came back from Faenza after the debrief post the Italian Grand Prix.

It was only then that he could properly let himself grieve. While they were travelling, he didn’t have time to think about the accident, nor the scrutiny of the media following his every move, nor the fact that Alex was already doing so much better in the Red Bull than he had been the whole season. As soon as he came back home, though, all he was holding in let itself loose.

When he walked through the door, Pierre had fallen to his knees and let out a burning sob. He crawled into bed and stayed there for the remainder of the time, getting up only to use the toilet, eat as much as a sparrow would and drink water. Everything tasted like ash on his tongue, but he managed.

Barely, but he did.

He was aware that someone would eventually come looking for him; a big part of him didn’t seem to care, ready to pounce at whoever was ready to try and stop him from mourning. Pierre didn’t just lose a friend when he lost Anthoine – he lost a brother. He was allowed to grieve his loss.

The ache in his stomach didn’t cease. If anything, it grew and continued growing until it consumed him whole. His fall was inevitable, but so was his rise.

It was Charles who broke him out of his misery. The Ferrari driver grew worried the longer Pierre failed to respond to his messages, eventually catching a flight to Italy and finding himself in front of Pierre’s new flat, fist raised to knock. The sound echoed three times, a haunting silence following like a ghost.

With a heavy feeling in his chest, after Pierre didn’t come to open the door, Charles grasped the handle with his hands to find out it was open. Entering his friend’s new place was supposed to leave him happy, but instead, the sight of the empty room and the scent of stale air brought him nothing but worry.

“Pierre?” he called out, receiving no response. Charles’ footsteps sounded over the dusty floorboards as he stepped further in, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the sight of dirty dishes in Pierre’s sink and what looked like mouldy biscuits on the kitchen counter. Everything looked so unlike Pierre, grimy and cold, and Charles felt his chest clench at the state.

The only indication it belonged to his best friend was the framed photograph on the wall, of Pierre and his family, wearing a smile so bright it would put sunshine to shame. There was another, broken frame on the floor, and Charles crouched to pick it up, straightening the crumpled photograph of Anthoine and Pierre back when they were younger.

Careful not to cut himself on the broken glass, Charles cleaned up the mess, having to find his way through Pierre’s kitchen in search of the rubbish bin. Letting out a small sigh, he loaded the dishwasher, turning it on before looking at the rest of the room. He opened the window, breathing in the fresh air (as much as it could be in the city).

Too consumed by his worry, Charles didn’t notice that Pierre had crawled out of his room, wrapped in a blanket with bags under his eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It was only when the Frenchman let out a small cough, alerting Charles of his presence, that he was able to survey the state he was in.

“Pierre,” Charles breathed out, the name falling from his lips in a gasp. Before either of them realised it, Charles pulled Pierre into his arms, holding him tight as he whispered, “You scared me. Where the fuck have you been?”

Pierre didn’t reply, just let himself wrap his arms around Charles’ torso, feel the embrace of his friend. Too overwhelmed by everything, he let a stream of tears fall, sobs wrecking his body as Charles’ grip on him only tightened. His mind was a jumbled mess of everything he wanted to say, everything he felt wanting to escape.

He wanted to scream until his throat hurt, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just let himself fall slack against Charles, the younger crying now, too. “It’s gonna be okay,” he could hear Charles whisper, the words left in the air. Somewhere in his heart, Pierre found himself wanting to believe Charles. He wanted everything to be alright.

And so, with the ache burning in his throat, he repeated, _“It’s gonna be okay.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr at altisssimozucca](https://altisssimozucca.tumblr.com/)


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